


Situational Awareness

by mbuzz



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Everyone has a potty mouth, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Crack, Slow Burn, Soulmate AU, Strong Language, but especially darcy, this is not the ot3 you are looking for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-05-27 13:10:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6286015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mbuzz/pseuds/mbuzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuation of Making a Getaway by Stella_Malodi</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It was a Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Making a Getaway](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6148285) by [Stella_Malodi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stella_Malodi/pseuds/Stella_Malodi). 



> Absolutely read Stella_Malodi's Making a Getaway before reading this or this makes very little sense. Plus, its just fun to read. While you're there, absolutely take a gander at the rest of the Silly Words for the Silly Soul(mate fic) series which is just a barrel of fun! :D 
> 
> Stella_Malodi was gracious enough to let me play in her sandbox and CatrinaSL has been an awesome beta, holding my hand while I find my way again. Give them love <3

Darcy cocked her head curiously while Steve maneuvered his bike to a stop outside Sam’s home.  There was a small team of agents buzzing around a very familiar white, four-door sedan, like flies around a pile of horse dung.  There was a man in a suit with his back to them who seemed to be running the show.

 

“How?” Darcy asked no one in particular, but Steve answered anyway.

 

“How what?”

 

“How—?  That’s my car!  How—” Several ‘how’s started and stopped in her mouth before Steve gave her an amused look over his shoulder.  She settled lamely on, “How did he know to bring it here?”

 

Steve shrugged the shrug of a man who dealt with too many spies, too often and had given up on wondering the “how’s.

 

“If it’s any consolation,” he said, “I’m pretty sure Bucky helped train Natasha.”

 

Darcy’s brows shot skywards and her eyes widened comically. No, that was not any consolation at all, the implications of having a super spy as her Soulmate beginning to sink in.

 

Her mouth dropped open to speak—probably something eloquent, like “well, shit”—when MIB-in-charge turned to face them and she was off Steve’s bike like a bottle rocket.

 

She knew that face and she knew what he was up to.

 

“If you assholes steal my iPod again,” she shouted, “I’ll stick Cap’s shield so far up your ass, your kids will be barfing star-spangled confetti.”

 

“Miss Lewis.  Captain.” Coulson responded blandly, as if there weren’t 5 feet 2 inches of bike-helmeted fury barking into his face.  “My team was nearby when we received notification of a suspicious vehicle filled with boxes parked outside the home of an Avenger.  We were the only team with bomb-detecting dwarves.”

 

Darcy realized then that the fly-like buzzing wasn’t an amusing embellishment from her imagination, but was actually coming from the tiny drones flitting around her car.

 

“What happened to the dogs?” Darcy pouted.  “I loved the bomb do—wait, back up.  Boxes?”

 

“Yes, Miss Lewis.  So far they appear to be personal belongings and nothing more.”  Coulson smirked and held up a small plastic evidence bag with her iPod inside.  “This item, in particular, jumped out at me.  Care to explain why there is an exceptionally crappy 2002 white Chevy Impala filled with your belongings outside the home of Sam Wilson?”

 

“Well, shit.”

 

* * *

 

Steve slid open the back door to Sam's house but put a hand on her shoulder to keep her from entering.  “Let me check it before you go inside.”

 

“But isn’t Sam good people?” Darcy asked.

 

He stopped her with a look. “Just in case,” he said, with a poor attempt at nonchalance.

 

Darcy rolled her eyes but let him wander through the house while she waited.

 

“It’s clear,” he reported on his return. “Sam is already mostly moved into the Tower, so you should be okay just moving your stuff in. I’ll have some of these agents help you get the boxes in.”

 

“Wait, what?  No!  I’m going back to New York with you!”

 

“Darcy, I’m not going anywhere you’re not going,” he told her. “Doctor Foster said that DC would be a good halfway point between her and Culver, and this is a good place for you to finish your thesis with no distractions.”

 

Darcy frowned. “So… what did you mean by that first part? You’re not going anywhere?”

 

“I promised Bucky,” he said with a smile.  He waved out at some agents, and one immediately hefted a box out of Darcy’s car and began to make his way toward the house with it. “But first I need to have… a conversation.  With an old friend.”

 

Director iPod Thief seemed to shrink under Steve’s gaze, and even though she was still pretty upset, she almost felt sorry for him.

 

Steve smiled at her. “Go ahead and unpack, or relax; whatever you need to do. I’ll be back to help you as soon as I can. And don’t worry, I won’t be far.”

 

Darcy was still slightly dizzy from the zero to sixty of her life. It was pretty cool that Sam had very graciously lent Darcy his place, since the lease wasn’t up for another six months.  How he managed to afford such a nice spot in the DC metro, she didn’t know, but she was willing to bet his military career was much more successful than he’d ever let on during their chats in the lab kitchens.  

 

Grateful though she was to have a quiet, non-science soaked place to finally finish her thesis, several hours after her initial encounter with Coulson, Darcy was still very irritated, tired, and grimy.  Mercifully, Coulson’s interrogation had been over quickly under the bright glare of Steve’s Disappointed Face™.  She didn’t know what happened there and was pretty sure she didn’t want to know; Steve’s Disappointed Face™ was still in place when he’d gone to have A Conversation™ with Coulson, leaving her surrounded by a neat pile of boxes, and an agent outside the door.

 

Darcy set herself to the task of methodically unpacking and organizing her possessions, finding a little peace in finally regaining some semblance of control.  She set a conspicuously inconspicuous Avengers-themed clock radio on her bedside table to examine later.  She’d never seen it in her life and its sudden appearance amongst her things was likely far from coincidence.

 

A short while later, Steve tapped on the back door and poked his head in.  She grinned at him.  “Just in time!  Help me rearrange the kitchen for short person use?”

 

They chatted amiably as Steve lowered the items she deemed of frequent use and raised the items she’d probably never put to use.  

 

“Blender?” he asked.  

 

“Pfft.  You see me making protein shakes, Cap?  Top of the fridge.”

 

“Steve,” he reminded her with a smile, not for the first time that day.  

 

“Steve,” she nodded.  “Any fun stories about Bucky?”

 

She regretted it immediately.  A look passed over his face which was probably meant to be a smile, but took a wrong turn at the corner of sad and nostalgic.

 

“Forget I said anything,” she rushed.  “I’ll ask him myself.  He’s my Soulmate, right?  I should get to know him on my own.”

 

This time Steve’s smile was exactly that: a smile, wide and joyful, happiness for his friend clear from ear to ear.

 

“I look forward to seeing that,” he said and looked around himself.  “This looks about set up.  Anything else you need?  I just need to stop by my apartment to pick up some things and I’ll be back.”

 

Darcy’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline.  “Excuse me?  What?  Why?”  She snapped her mouth shut just in time to cut off the “huh?”  Her face probably said it anyway.

 

“Darcy,” Steve said, Captain Voice in full force, “I won’t leave you here by yourself.  I promised Bucky you would be safe.”

 

“I won’t be alone, _Cap_ ,” she said pointedly.  “There will be an agent outside my door.  I will be safe.  This is the home of an Avenger.  Not even a crappy car was allowed to sit in peace before the minions swooped in.”

 

“I made a promise, Darcy. To Bucky.”

 

“I know. You’ve kept it and you’re still keeping it by sticking around DC.  But I can’t live my life or finish my thesis with Captain America fussing over me.  It’d just remind me of that creepy-ass poster my first grade teacher put in the timeout corner.”

 

Steve snickered, not even remotely sorry.  “How about your new best friend Steve?” he asked.  

 

She smiled.  “My friend Steve lives nearby and has a business of agents protecting me.  That’ll do.”

 

“A business of agents?”

 

“Yeah, like flies?  A group of flies is called a business.”

 

Steve’s lips twitched but looked ready to continue arguing the point, so Darcy cut him off with a placating hand.  “Steve, please,” she said, letting her weariness leak into her voice.  “I’ve had my life turned upside down and rifled through in less than 24 hours.  I need some space or at least the illusion of it.  _Please?_ ”

 

Steve winced and scrubbed a hand over his face.  “You’re right.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t... think.  Of course, you... need some space.”

 

“Awesome.  Thank you so much for—”

 

“But I’m adding another agent to the door.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you are.”

 

With that, he clapped her shoulder and slinked out the door, leaving Darcy with the distinct impression of having kicked his puppy.

 

She pouted at the door for a moment and then shook it off.  She needed a shower.  Badly.

 

She went upstairs into the bedroom for a couple towels, stripping off her travel smelling sweater and dropping it into the hamper near the door.   A sudden wailing startled a yelp from her and she whirled around, looking frantically for the noise.  

 

She puffed out a relieved breath when she found that the noise was coming from the ridiculously kitschy clock radio she’d set aside earlier.  The Who was demanding to know who she was, and if she hadn’t been sure the clock radio was Bucky’s doing, that left no question.  She flicked it off with a snicker and decided now was as good a time as any to examine it.  

 

About an hour later, her slightly curbed irritation had mounted into fuming anger.

 

She stomped into the kitchen with an evidence bag full of surveillance bugs and a head full of rage. She slammed it onto the counter next to the kitchen sink, fished a small listening device out of it, then tossed it down the drain and flipped the switches next to the sink until the garbage disposal roared and crackled around its bounty.  

 

“You’ve got thirty seconds to get in here and make me stop!” she shouted at the remaining devices.

 

It didn’t take long for the agent outside to start tapping frantically at the back door, but Darcy tossed two more rounds of bugs down the garbage disposal out of spite before she went to open the door.  She peeped out between the blinds and saw the face of one very chagrined, petite agent.  She flung the door open and glowered.  The agent took a sudden step back, eyes wide.

 

Darcy realized she must look crazed, standing in the middle of what looked like an explosion of boxes, evidence bags, belongings and furnishings, hair escaping an already messy bun, her many layers of clothing shed to her undershirt and jeans and her face blotched with anger.  She could only imagine what she looked like earlier, shouting into an evidence bag.

 

Darcy held her ground.  “What the fuck?” she snapped, with what she considered to be a perfectly reasonable amount of shrill.

 

The agent’s hands popped up in surrender.  “My name is Skye, and I can explain!” she said quickly.  “Stop murdering the tech, please.  Fitz is going to start crying, and nobody wants that.  That would be sad.”

 

Darcy stepped back with a scowl and Skye edged her way passed Darcy, scuffing plastic to the side with her foot on her way to the kitchen to examine the evidence baggy.  “You’re lucky I couldn’t reach the blender,” Darcy mumbled.  “Hey, does Sam know you bugged his whole damn house?” she asked, her voice regaining it’s shrill pitch.

 

Skye winced.  “That wasn’t us!” she protested.  “We only bugged your stuff.”  

 

Darcy stared at her.

 

Skye rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.  “Fine!” she huffed.  “We only had time to put in the camera near the back door before Mack heard Steve’s bike.”

 

Darcy’s eyes widened as she let loose an angry hiss and whipped around to skim her fingers along the door frame.  When she discovered the offending camera, she returned and flicked it at Skye’s face.  The device plinked off her forehead and into the sink.

 

Skye flinched and rubbed the small welt forming between her eyes.  “Okay, I deserved that.  Jeez, you have good aim.  Director’s orders, though, I swear!”  Skye’s hands went back up in surrender at Darcy’s glare.  “How did you find them, anyway?  Fitz is about to have a coronary.”

 

Darcy held up the bug sweeper in her hand.  Skye stepped forward, eyes glued to the device.  “Where did you get that?” she demanded.  “I examined all your tech personally.  That wasn’t in it.”  

 

“It was a gift.”

 

“It was in the clock radio, wasn’t it?” Skye asked, eyes intent on Darcy’s face.

 

Darcy’s eyes narrowed.

 

“I knew it!” Skye crowed.  “‘Maybe it was a gift’ my _ass_ , Coulson!  Millennials don’t own clock radios.”

 

Darcy smirked despite herself.  “It _was_ a gift.”

 

“From your undead boyfriend?” Skye asked artlessly.

 

Darcy cocked her head and pointedly glared at the bag full of bugs still clutched in Skye’s hand.  

 

Skye rocked to the balls of her feet and shot her a pleading smile, clearly dying for a non-verbal answer.  Darcy sucked her lips between her teeth and made a point of examining the ceiling.

 

“Yeah, fair enough,” Skye chirped and rocked back to her heels.  She glanced around, “Want some help cleaning up?  I’m half the reason this place is a mess.”

 

Darcy wanted to refuse, but her bones ached and she felt the wind of her anger quickly leaving her sails.  She’d have bugged Skye’s things, too, had the situation been flipped.  She let loose a gusty sigh and let her body sag under the weight of exhaustion.

 

“Take those down to your commandant and you can help.  But I’m scanning this place again when you leave and any tech I find gets fed to the garbage disposal.”

 

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” Skye said, laughing as she walked out the door.

 

Darcy pulled out the new burner phone she’d found alongside the bug sweeper in the garish clock radio and shot off a text to the only number programmed in it:

 

_{Deloused but still under watch.  Can I use this as my primary phone or am I Heisenberg?}_

 

**_{It’s a dual chip for a reason, doll.  Welcome to the modern age.  Do you need help retrieving your contacts?}_ **

 

“Smartass,” Darcy huffed as she slumped into a chair at the kitchen table.  

 

_{I’m tired, not stupid, gramps.}_

 

She cracked open the back of the phone.  Sure enough, two separate SIMS in two separate slots.  Huh.  She didn’t even know Sony sold phones with two chips.  She snapped the phone back together quickly when she heard Skye’s boots on the back porch and stuffed it into her pocket.  

 

Barely 24 hours had passed since she’d met Bucky and her life had already completely changed.  She was fairly certain this wasn’t what her mother had meant when she told her everything would be different after she met her Soulmate.  


	2. Breakfast of Spies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spies are allergic to knocking and Skye has a *terrible* idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took the lovely CatrinaSL's advice of "This needs more Steve" waaaaay too far. This was originally supposed to be a five things and then my brain did *way* too much.

Bacon.  Bacon was in the air.  Darcy’s nose twitched.  

 

Yup.  Definitely bacon.

 

She cracked open an eye, and froze, confused.  What in the name of Thor’s abs...

 

Oh, _right_. Soulmate!  World upended.  Spies.  Is this her real life?

 

The bacon was real, though, and the growling of her stomach deemed it far more pertinent to all other thought.

 

And _coffee_.  All the coffee.

 

Whatever deity was blessing her with their cooking could probably wait five minutes for her to dress out of her yummy sushi pajamas and wash the cotton off her teeth.

 

Eh.  On second thought, she'd just brush her teeth and let her yummy sushi pajamas shine in all their sushi glory.  Whoever it was had probably seen them while they were rifling through and bugging all her things, anyway.

 

She stuck her new burner phone into the pocket of her lovely jammies, shuffled through brushing her teeth and focused on not dying on her way down the stairs.

 

Darcy’s stockinged feet slid to an abrupt halt at the threshold of the kitchen.  She scowled deeply.  She may have growled.  

 

Director iPod Thief turned from mixing pancake batter and smiled winningly.  

 

“Ah!  Miss Lewis.  I had—”  

 

Darcy stopped him with a shake of her head and a “cut it out” gesture across her throat.  She shuffled over to the Keurig, placed her mug under it, set the pod and watched as the machine dispensed Brain Fluid into it.

 

Mug in hand, she turned and continued to glare at Coulson over it.  He opened his mouth to speak again, but she stopped him with a slow shake of her head and sat at the table.

 

Only when she had served herself a second cup and Coulson had placed two mountains of pancakes and bacon on the table did she motion for him to speak.

 

“So what is it, Director iPod Thief?”

 

“It’s come to my attention that I’ve been...”

 

“A spying asshole?”

 

“I am the director of a spy agency, Miss Lewis.  Spying is what I do.  I... direct spying.”  Darcy quirked a brow at him and he continued quickly, “I was going to say that I’ve been advised that my behavior towards you could be more welcoming and I’d like to endeavor to do so.”

 

Darcy snorted around a mouthful of pancake and shook her head.  She swallowed and asked, “Man, what the hell did you do to Steve?”

 

He frowned.  “I didn’t do anything to Captain Rogers.”

 

“So you’re here because a petite junior agent named Skye pouted at you after I pelted her in the face with a listening device?  That doesn’t seem very director-y.”

 

Coulson stared at her over his own mug of coffee.  Darcy quirked a brow and shoveled another bite of delicious pancake into her mouth. She chewed carefully and considered the man in front of her, who seemed intent on staring her into forgiving him.  She swallowed.

 

“So,” she began.  “Steve gave you his Disappointed™ face, told you to play nice with me and stop spying when you should be protecting me.  You decided the best way to do that was to sneak into my borrowed home while I was sleeping and cook us breakfast?”

 

Coulson blinked and furrowed his brow.

 

“Uh-huh.  Nice show, champ.” She cocked her head again.  “Hey, why was the director of totally-not-S.H.I.E.L.D. overseeing the inspection of a suspicious vehicle?”

 

Coulson paused.  “Actually, I decided the best way to protect you would be to recruit you.”

 

“Haaaa!  Good one.  Nice deflecting.  Seriously, what—”

 

“I am serious, Miss Lewis.” Coulson’s gaze caught hers and held it.  “We are very low on people and even lower on people we can trust.  You’ve been vetted by S.H.I.E.L.D. before and by Stark Industries since.  You’re a very bright woman, you adapt quickly and you perform well in high-stress situations.  Even if we weren’t low on people we would be lucky to have you, and I would be thrilled to have you on our team.”

 

Darcy gaped at him.  When it became clear she was only going to fishmouth at him (in what she deemed an accurate representation of her ability to ‘adapt quickly’ before her third cup of coffee), Coulson began speaking again.

 

“It’s not an entirely selfish offer.  I said it was the best way to protect you, and it is.  The best way is to teach you how to protect yourself.  You’d be trained by some of our best agents.”

 

Darcy stood up to pour herself that third cup of coffee and found her voice along the way.  “I can take a self-defense class.  My taser has saved my life a couple times already.  I don’t need some super agent to train me to kill people.  But you know that.”  She turned to him.  The gears in her head turned and clicked.  Her heart began to beat a nervous rhythm in her chest.  “Is this an ultimatum?  I know something, don’t I?  You’d rather not kill Captain America’s new friend so you’ll offer me a job and bury me in protocol?”

 

Darcy caught a glint out of the corner of her eye and swallowed nervously.  She glanced surreptitiously towards it and, sure enough, she could see Bucky’s profile as he sat at the top of the stairs, idly flipping a knife between the fingers of his metal hand.

 

“What?   _No_!  Of course not!,” Coulson spluttered, seemingly oblivious to her thunderous pulse and the assassin behind him.  “S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t kill innocent people!”

 

“S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t exist,” she shot back automatically.  She couldn’t tell if Bucky’s presence made her more or less nervous, but she felt somehow safer all the same.

 

“This isn’t a James Bond film, Miss Lewis,” Coulson looked genuinely affronted.  “I can bury you in NDAs whether or not you work for me.”  He paused.  “You do have information I need, however.”

 

Darcy saw Bucky’s form more clearly in her peripheral vision as he shifted closer down the stairs, poised for what she could only vehemently refuse to imagine.

 

“So ask,” she snapped, leaning heavily on the counter behind her and taking a huge gulp of coffee.  She shook her head.  “Stop being cagey.”

 

“To ask you would be to involve you in an ongoing, highly classified investigation,” Coulson said patiently as he stood, his hands flat on the table.  ”Please consider the offer.  I’ll stop by later today with some dinner and NDAs.  We’ll chat either way.”  

 

Darcy frowned.  “Wait, what?  That’s it?” She asked sharply, thrown by the anticlimax.

 

Coulson’s lips twitched.  “Yes, Miss Lewis.  I only want to protect you.  Adding a brilliant woman such as yourself to my team would just be a bonus.”

 

“Geez, you’re really petting my ego this morning,” she said dryly.

 

Coulson smiled softly.  “I’ll see you for dinner.”  

 

With that Coulson turned and left.  Bucky was gone by that time and when she didn’t hear any thumps or sounds of alarm as Coulson passed by the stairs and out the front door, she let out the breath she was holding.  She set her cup of coffee on the table and slowly sat down in the seat Coulson had vacated, her body trembling.

 

Darcy closed her eyes and practiced her yoga breathing.  When she felt her body settle, she opened her eyes again and yelped.

 

Bucky was seated in front of her, happily munching on the rest of her breakfast, a neat pile of crushed listening devices in the middle of the table.  Because of course he was.  What was a little B&E without a side of bacon?

 

“Your situational awareness sucks,” he said and shoveled a forkful of pancake into his mouth.

 

“How did you get in here?” she hissed at him.  

 

His grey eyes laughed at her and his mouth quirked around his mouthful.  Her heart thumped back into her throat.  Yup.  He definitely made her nervous.

 

“Right.  Stupid question,” she mumbled, and turned her attention to filling her empty stomach.

 

“Your security team sucks,” he said by way of answer, and licked a bit of syrup off the corner of his mouth.  Darcy tried valiantly not to track the movement with her eyes.  She failed.  

 

“Well, S.H.I.E.L.D. is short-handed these days,” she croaked, her mouth suddenly dry, eyes on her plate.

 

He hummed.  “You gonna take his offer?”

 

Darcy cleared her throat and tried to concentrate on the conversation.  Her answer seemed important to him, though nothing in his manner had shifted.  “Should I?”

 

He shrugged.  “Do you want to?”

 

“No. I’m Jane’s.” She met his gaze.  “Do you know what he wants from me?”

 

“Me, probably,” he answered.  Nothing about him changed outwardly, yet she could tell he was relieved.  “He can probably tell you didn't give him all the facts yesterday.  Are you sure?  You could use some training.”

 

“I’m sure.  I need to finish my thesis and I can take some classes at the Y.”

 

Bucky shot her a look.  “The Y ain’t gonna help your situational awareness.”

 

“So you’re saying I should take the offer?”

 

“I’m saying you need training.”

 

“Is that why you’re here?”

 

“I’m here to make sure you’re safe,” he growled.  “And you’re not safe.  Why’d you give Steve the boot?”

 

“I am safe.  They’re here to guard me from HYDRA minions, not the Winter Soldier.”

 

He rolled his eyes so hard she thought they might make a break for it.  “I am the Winter Soldier and the Winter Soldier has been here since dawn.”

 

“You’re Bucky Barnes,” Darcy said.

 

“And the Winter Soldier,” he said, exasperated.  “I’m not done getting rid of HYDRA cells.  I won’t know if I’m... safe ‘til then.”

 

It was Darcy’s turn to roll her eyes.  “I’m pretty sure you can protect yourself, Bucky.”

 

Bucky gave her an irritated look.  “I don’t mean safe from them, I mean...” he floundered for a moment and his face took on the slightly panicked expression of a man who was loathe to express his fears.  “There have been a lot of people in my head and I just need to make sure HYDRA is out of it.”

 

Darcy nodded slowly, realization on her face.  “You think they have a sleeper code for you or something like that.”

 

“No use having a weapon if they can’t control it,” he said with a shrug.

 

“So...” she said slowly, “Why have you been here since dawn?  I thought you left yesterday.”

 

“Proving a point,” he grumbled.  “I didn’t want to expose myself to more HYDRA agents and a possible trigger until I knew you would be safe from me.  Let Steve stay here.”

 

“I understand your concern,” she said gently, “But I’m sure Captain America has way more important things to do than babysit a random-ass coed.”

 

“No, Darcy, he doesn’t,” Bucky said peevishly.  “You’re a smart girl.  You know the position you’re in.”

 

Darcy nibbled nervously at a piece of bacon.  Yes, she knew.  If it got out that she was Bucky’s Soulmate, she would be a target to get to him.  If he was captured and turned, he would be turned against her.  

 

“I’m only important to you, Bucky,” she said levelly.  “Not to national security.  If Captain America is seen guarding me, they’ll wonder why.”

 

“They’ll have to get past me to find out why,” Steve's voice said from behind her.

 

Darcy yelped for the third time in two days and was sincerely beginning to hate the sound.

 

She glared at Steve as he moved out from behind the wall behind her and further into the kitchen. She shifted her glare to Bucky, who was still coolly polishing off the breakfast Coulson had prepared.  He shrugged and gave her a small smile, “I told you your situational awareness sucks, doll.”

 

“Since when were you a stealth master?” she demanded of Steve.

 

“He’s not,” Bucky answered for him.  “The front door is behind you.  He’s been here for five minutes.”  He licked his lips slowly and winked as her eyes couldn’t help but track the motion again.  She narrowed her eyes at him.  “You’ve just been distracted.”

 

Steve scowled.  “Stealthy enough to save your ass more than a few times.”

 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Darcy exclaimed.  “So not the point!  What’s wrong with knocking?”

 

Steve shrugged but made no move to defend himself as he sat and prepared himself a plate.  How much food did Coulson even make?

 

“You know what?  Never mind,” Darcy huffed.  “The point stands.  I can’t see how you staying here calls less attention to me, with or without your ego in the way.”

 

Steve’s scowl reappeared briefly but he munched thoughtfully.  “She has a point, Buck,” he said when he swallowed.  “I could take turns with the team.”

 

“Oh, yes, that’s a better plan,” Darcy huffed sarcastically.  “Not just Captain America but the entire team of Avengers is interested in a random coed in DC.”

 

“But you’re not a random coed,” Steve said.  “You’re Dr. Foster’s intern and a good friend of Thor’s and by extension a friend of the team.  Tony put a tracker in your taser for a reason.”

 

Darcy rolled her eyes.  “He probably put a tracker in my taser because I fell asleep in the lab and he was bored waiting for Bruce or something.  I love the guy, but let’s not pretend Tony Stark’s foresight extends beyond the end of his dick.”

 

“Well, that’s not fair,” Steve said.  “Sometimes he even thinks about Pepper.”

 

Bucky snickered but was stopped short from commenting by a rapid tapping at the back door.  He stood and took his plate with him into the living room as Steve stood to answer the door.

 

Skye poked her head in and took a massive stride backward when her nose confronted the broad, immovable expanse of Steve’s chest.  

 

“Wow,” she chuckled nervously, craning her neck to look him in the eye.  “Aren’t you just... America sized?”  She shook her head at herself.  “Can I come in?  I have a really terrible idea.  Actually, another really terrible idea.”

 

“It’s fine, Steve,” Darcy called.  “That’s Skye.  She’s... less agent-y.”

 

Steve stepped aside and Skye quirked a brow as she walked in.  “Um.  Thanks?” She spun in a circle and looked around.  “Where’s the scary HYDRA assassin?  I’d like to be able to see him.  You know, like a spider?  Better to know where he is, than...”  Skye winced mid-babble as she noticed Steve’s sharp look.  “Yeeeeaah... that was my first really terrible idea.  I’ve been listening at the door since Coulson started frying bacon and didn’t offer me any.  I was going to sneak in and grab some later.  Surveillance is hungry work!   _Holy shit_ ,” she squeaked, edging closer to Steve.  “There he is.  Do I get in trouble for thinking the HYDRA assassin is super hot?  They sure knew how to pack ‘em in the 40s.  Also, it’s possible I babble in the presence of national icons.  Who knew?”  She finished with a shrill giggle and a cough.

 

Darcy smirked at Bucky over her shoulder.  “Your situational awareness sucks, doll,” she said gleefully.

 

He glowered at Skye, who shrunk behind Steve.  “How?” he demanded.  “The door was secure.  You were standing watch—poorly—and I destroyed all the bugs.”

 

Skye held up a small, tube-like device.  “It picks up vibrations on glass and transmits them to this earpiece,” she tapped her ear.  “This is just a small prototype.  It doesn’t have a very long range, but it’s undetectable because it’s so small.  I would have stopped if you guys started doing the nasty, I swear!”

 

Darcy choked on her coffee.

 

“Which brings me to my other really terrible idea!” Skye rushed to say, with a wary eye on Bucky.  “I was spying, my bad, but I heard the argument you were having and I can help!  Maybe.”

 

Darcy cleared her burning throat and motioned for Skye to go on.

 

“See, I thought you and the Captain were a thing,” she began, peeking from around Steve, “And I vowed to myself that if he came in and you guys started bumping uglies, I’d definitely stop listening, bacon be damned, right?  Then I heard you talking to the T1000.   Bucky," she amended at Darcy’s sharp look and she moved out from behind Steve to look Darcy in the eye.  She nodded earnestly.  “Bucky.  But my point is that if I thought you and the Captain were a thing, wouldn’t it be pretty easy to make everyone else think you are?  And then it wouldn’t be weird for him to be around you all the time or for you to be out with other Avengers, either.  You’d be more than Dr. Foster’s intern, you’d be Captain America’s main squeeze.” Her eyes widened suddenly and she quickly shrunk back behind Steve.  “Say, can he kill me with his brain?  Cuz it looks like he’s trying.”

 

Darcy turned to find Bucky much closer to her than he had been before, glowering menacingly at Skye over her shoulder.  Darcy rolled her eyes, turned back to Skye and shook her head.  “I’d just be a target for being important to Steve.  It wouldn’t change anything.”

 

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t be alone anymore,” Skye pressed.  “You’d be with the Captain or one of the Avengers all the time, which is less suspicious and safer than what’s going right now.”

 

Steve walked back to the table and crossed his arms over the top of a chair, levelling his gaze at Bucky.  “HYDRA wouldn’t have any reason to think Darcy had any connection to you or information about you.”

 

Darcy fumed silently for a moment.  She knew something was off about her being the tactician in a room with the leader of the freaking Avengers and a super assassin.  Of course they’d both thought of the dangers, but The Bro Code stood in the way of simple romcom logic.

 

Bucky rested his right hand on Darcy’s shoulder and bent towards her ear.  “Can I talk to you?” He murmured, his lips grazing the shell of her ear.  

 

Darcy’s heart sped up.  It was the first physical contact they’d had and her body was keenly aware of the warmth of his hand.  She nodded mutely and stood, his hand guiding her into the living room by the small of her back.

 

“I hate this plan,” he rumbled, standing in her space, his eyes intent on her face.

 

“I know,” she whispered, rolling her eyes.  Of course he hated this plan.  “It’s awkward as hell.  We’ll come up with something else.”

 

He shook his head and skimmed his hand down her arm to grasp her hand.  “I’ve thought of other plans.  They’re terrible options.”

 

She frowned.  “Really?  That bad?”

 

“The first option is locking you up in Avengers tower.  The second is you join S.H.I.E.L.D. and they hide you in an underground base.”  He lifted his hand to brush a curl off her face and rested his palm on her shoulder.  “It’s up to you, though.”

 

Darcy hooked her hands onto her hips.  “Oh, it’s up to me now, huh?  I believe it was you who packed up my shit and relocated me to DC yesterday.”

 

Bucky dropped his gaze and his hand.  “Yeah.  I’m sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbled.  “I really didn’t see a better or safer option for you.  I would have consulted you, but it was too risky.”

 

Darcy reached forward and grasped his left hand, the cool metal of it calling attention to her sweaty palm.  “I get it.  I was pissed off yesterday, but I caught the gist pretty quick.”

 

Bucky met her eyes again, his gaze solemn.  “I don’t want to put you in a position you don’t want to be.”

 

Darcy waggled her brows at him.  “Talkin’ positions, Sergeant? My, you’re takin’ all sorts of liberties.”

 

A laugh bubbled from his throat, surprising both of them.  He reached up and gripped both her shoulders in his hands and squeezed.  Bucky seemed disinclined to let go of her once he’d touched her.  Whether he was seeking comfort in her touch or simply confirming she was real, Darcy didn’t know.

 

Bucky seemed to collect his thoughts before speaking.  “You... have a life,” he began, haltingly.  “We’re... Soulmates.  But I can’t be... _that_ to you right now.  I need to leave soon.  Now.  I need to leave now.  You should be able to live your life as freely as you can and I’m sorry that I... fucked that up.  The best I can do for you is make sure you’re safe while you... study?  What _do_ you do?”

 

It was Darcy’s turn to laugh unexpectedly.  “I— Yes.  I’m almost done, actually.  I’m writing my thesis for my masters in Political Science.  That's how I know just how deep you’re in and I understand why you can’t be... with me.  Right now.”  She lifted a hand to his wrist where he still gripped her shoulders and drew a circle with her thumb as she looked up at him in earnest.  “Things are going to get so much worse for you and people like you, like the Avengers.  They really need to get a better publicist,” she grumbled, frowning at his chest.

 

He tugged her against his chest in an embrace and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.  Darcy wound her arms around his waist and breathed deep, surrounding herself in the scent of leather, gun oil, hotel soap and an unidentifiable scent she filed away as ‘Bucky.’  She looked up into his eyes, keenly aware of his breath on her face.  She felt a subtle shift in the air around them and dropped her gaze to his mouth.  Her tongue darted out to lick her lips.   

 

“Hey, guys?” Steve called as he strode into the living room.  He grimaced apologetically as they pulled apart.  “Skye needs to leave soon.  Have you made a decision?”  

 

“Yeah,” Darcy answered.  “We’ll be right in.”  She waited for Steve to back away before turning back to Bucky.  “So... I guess we should go tell Steve he has a new girlfriend?”

 

Bucky hummed darkly, his face pulled into a fabulous impression of Grumpy Cat.  Darcy’s head fell back and her shoulders shook with mirth.  “Don’t you dare sneak off without saying goodbye to Steve,” she said, choking back her laughter.

 

Bucky met her gaze and, after a brief pause, he nodded.  

 

She spun and strode determinedly into the kitchen, Bucky on her heels.  She jabbed a finger at Skye.  “You,” she barked.   “No more spying.  It worked this time, but knock it off.”  Skye nodded quickly, her hands up in surrender.  Darcy began to wonder if this was Skye’s default setting or simply a reaction to Darcy herself.  “You’re certain no one else heard anything that happened here today?”

 

“Yeah,” Skye answered.  “There’s only this prototype and I’m not even supposed to have it.  No one else knows.”

 

“Good,” Darcy said.  “While I’m in DC, you’re my new best friend.  Is that alright?”

 

Skye grinned.  “Sure!  I mean, I have to clear it with Coulson, but if the Captain puts in a good word...” She trailed off and glanced hopefully at Steve, who nodded.

 

Darcy turned to Steve.  “Steve.  We’re friends and we’ll only ever be friends.  But as far as everyone outside this house is concerned, we are officially an item.  We’ll sleep in the guest room, which has separate beds, but I reserve the right to use the master bedroom as my own private dressing room.  That gives you room for your stuff in the guest room and your own bathroom.”

 

“Can I make a suggestion?” Skye asked.  When Darcy nodded, she continued.  “You should be honest with Coulson.  He likes you, but you already set off his bullshit detector yesterday.  It’s better to have him helping you than trying to figure out what you’re hiding.”

 

Bucky turned to Steve.  “You trust him?”

 

“Absolutely,” Steve nodded.  “He’s a good man and could not be further from HYDRA.”

 

“Okay.”  He turned to Skye.  “He wants to know why I was so close to your base, right?”

 

“You know where our base is?” Skye asked, her eyes wide with astonishment.

 

He smirked.  “Go watch the door again.  I gotta talk to Steve before I leave.”

 

Skye placed the listening device on the table.  “Give that to Coulson later,” she told Darcy.  “I’ll take May off the door and cover Bucky when he wants to leave.”

 

Bucky’s lips twitched at the idea that he might need help, but he thanked her anyway as she headed out.

 

While Bucky and Steve moved into the living room to speak to each other, Darcy busied herself by cleaning up the plates.  She licked her lips and smiled sadly to herself, the sweet taste of pancakes and syrup forever linked this odd morning with Bucky.  Just because she understood the ‘why’s and the ‘wherefore’s, didn’t mean she wasn’t disappointed with the way things were going with her Soulmate.  She had hoped for the best and prepared for the worst, as she always did, and as was always the case, the truth lay somewhere in the middle.  This was nowhere near the tragedy of her parents, but it wasn’t a fairytale, either.

 

She was just drying her hands when she turned to find Bucky close behind her, leaving his plate from the living room on the counter near the sink.  She smiled up at him.  He pressed a kiss to her temple and left without a sound.

 

Steve stalked back into the kitchen and began washing the plate Bucky had left.  There was a slight crease between his brows and he was scrubbing a bit more forcefully than seemed necessary.

 

“I’ll just go, um... shower and change,” Darcy said and quickly backed out of the kitchen.  Steve clearly needed space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering how Bucky got in: Parkour. *nods*


	3. Dating is Hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit shorter and a bit late. Sorry!! As ever, CatrinaSL made this possible with her awesome beta powers!

 

 

The first thing Steve and Darcy did as a couple was argue.  

 

Steve wanted to go get his duffel and come straight back.  Darcy said that was a terrible idea.  If they were a couple, he sure as hell wouldn’t be moving in yet.  They hadn’t even been on a date!

 

So they went on a “date.”  Coffee.  Normal enough.  

 

Except it wasn’t.  It was awkward as hell.  Just standing in line, Darcy knew they weren’t going to make it through a single cup of coffee without speaking more than three words to each other, much less pull off a convincing looking date.  Steve was still brooding about whatever Bucky had said to him and Darcy’s instincts had her giving him a wide berth.  So when Darcy reached the till, she ordered her coffee to go and Steve did the same.  

 

Darcy gulped her coffee nervously as they walked the short distance to Steve’s apartment, both lost in thought.  Steve had chosen a Starbucks near his place, obviously intending to get his duffel either way.  Darcy sighed to herself.  This was going to be much, much more difficult than she had anticipated.  

 

The second thing Darcy and Steve did as a couple was lie.

 

Upon their arrival, Steve stopped short just outside the small foyer, causing Darcy to run smack into his back.  Before she could ask him what the hell his problem was, Steve spoke.

 

“Natasha,” he said, a barely contained eye-roll evident in his voice.

 

Darcy knew instantly he wasn’t calling her Natasha, even without the husky-voiced response.

 

“Hello, Steve,” the Widow greeted.

 

Darcy stayed where she was, hiding behind Steve.  Like Skye.  Frozen, she told herself, but no.  She knew she was hiding.  From Natasha.  Which was pointless.

 

Darcy plastered a grin on her face and poked her head out from behind Steve and waved at the red-head.

 

“Hey, Nat!” Darcy said, cheerily.  So what if she squeaked a little?  She always squeaked around Natasha.  The woman made her nervous and she strongly suspected it was to Natasha's infinite amusement.  God of Thunder, Captain America, Iron Man, Hulk, whatever.  Darcy could roll with the dudes.  One sharp smile from Natasha and she was quaking in her Chucks.

 

That same sharp smile was turned on her right that moment.  Darcy firmly told her knees not to knock together, but it was a close thing.

 

“Darcy,” Natasha said, curiously.  “I thought you were in Virginia.”

 

“I was,” Darcy squeaked.  She gulped some more coffee and cleared her throat.  “I’m here now,” she said more levelly.  “With Steve.”  She patted Steve’s back but she didn’t move out from behind him.  

 

Natasha turned her smile to Steve and it took on a more inquisitive nature, waiting for him to spill his secrets.

 

Steve crossed his arms.  “She’s here visiting me.  W-we’re, uh... dating now.”

 

Darcy brought her head back behind Steve and let her forehead thunk forward against his spine.  Well done, Steve.  

 

“You’re a terrible liar, Rogers,” Natasha chuckled.

 

Inexplicably, Darcy felt a giggle tickle the back of her throat.  She bit her lip, but this only exacerbated the tickle in her throat.  She tried to hold her breath but failed spectacularly as laughter burst forth.  Honestly, what was she thinking?  Expecting Captain America, poster boy for Honesty, Bravery and the American Way™, to lie and deceive the likes of Natasha Romanoff?  Steve made to turn and look at her but she reached up and clutched his hip to hold him in place, giggling helplessly into his shirt.  By doing so, she realized how incredibly slim his hips were and this struck her as absurdly funny, especially in comparison to the impressive breadth of his shoulders, which were currently shrugging at Natasha.  She squeezed his hip tighter and breathed deeply, firmly telling herself to get a grip.  Steve lifted his right hand and laced his fingers through hers.  His stance relaxed and he huffed out a laugh of his own.

 

And suddenly she knew how to dig them out of this hole.  Darcy mentally fortified herself.  God help her, she was about to lie to The Black Widow.  

 

She squeezed Steve’s fingers and poked her still giggling head around him to look at Natasha.  She dropped her gaze in a way she hoped looked rueful and not terrified.

 

“Y-you’ve caught us in the middle of a, uh... disagreement,” she stammered.  “We’re still in the awkward, silent part of it.”

 

Natasha angled her gaze down from Steve’s face to Darcy and her eyes narrowed in interest.  “That part I believe,” she said slowly.  “See, Steve?  Lie with the truth.”

 

Steve flopped down next to Natasha on the couch.  Darcy took a seat in an armchair near them, placed her (now empty) coffee on the coffee table and with her nose finally out of Steve’s shirt, she noticed the smell of fresh paint and plaster.

  
“Why are are you here, Natasha?” he asked, wearily.

 

Natasha’s eyes never left Darcy.  “Are you alright?” she asked her sharply.

 

Darcy’s head snapped away from her perusal of the fresh drywall (were those _bullet holes?_ ) and caught Natasha’s gaze.  “What?  Yeah, I’m fine.”  It didn’t feel like a lie, but Natasha was clearly unconvinced and Steve’s brow furrowed as he looked at her critically.

 

“You’re looking a little grey, Darcy,” he said, concern edging his voice.

 

“What’s going on?” Natasha demanded.

 

Darcy, still only just catching her breath from her hysterics, huffed out a high pitched, exasperated laugh.  She paused and took a moment to take stock of herself: _was_ she alright?  Her stomach roiled and her heart was quick to pick up the pace, her fight-or-flight response on a hair trigger.  So, she could lie to herself, but apparently, she couldn’t lie to the Widow.  She threw her hands up, “I guess not, no!  I thought I was rolling with it, but...” She shook her head as she trailed off.

 

Steve reached forward and clasped her fingers gently.  She was surprised to find how soft his hands were.  It jarred with the image of the hardened super-soldier, but she dismissed it quickly; super-soldiers probably healed too quickly to ever have roughened hands.  She didn’t remember if Bucky’s hand was soft.  Had she held his hand?  She couldn’t remember.  She squeezed Steve’s fingers and rubbed her temple with the other.

 

“I met my Soulmate,” she answered Natasha, suddenly swamped with bone-deep weariness.  “He’s a very dangerous man with very dangerous friends and even more dangerous enemies.  He... had to bail.  Steve took it upon himself to protect me if anything goes South from that end.  For it to work, we have to pretend to be together.  That’s all I should tell you.”

 

Natasha looked at them. “Okay.  I’ll help you.”

 

Steve looked at her.  “This should be good,” he said sarcastically.

 

Natasha arched a brow but ignored him.  “The best way to get people to believe you’re together is to tell them you’re not.  People are more inclined to believe things they think they figured out for themselves.”

 

And so, the third and final thing Darcy and Steve did as a couple was to break up.

 

“So... Just be friends?” Steve asked.

 

“Yes,” Natasha replied.

 

“That kinda live together and spend a freakish amount of time together,” Darcy finished.  Of course.  Tony would be the first to ‘ship it and start a betting pool.

 

“I’ll train you,” Natasha said without preamble.

 

Darcy’s eyes widened and she flopped her head back against the headrest to look at the ceiling.  Aside from the fact that the idea of Natasha training her filled her with irrational terror, she was getting very tired of people telling her she needed training.  She wasn’t useless.  She dropped Steve's hand and crossed her arms.  “Why does everyone keep saying I need training?  I’m a college student and Jane’s intern!  If I ever get to finish my thesis, I’ll just be Jane’s intern!”

 

“Because,” Natasha began slowly, “You’ve only been in immediate danger for short periods of time.  It was a sprint.  This is a marathon.”

 

Darcy blinked.  It was true.  She had faced the Destroyer and the Dark Elves and while those experiences lingered with her, they had been moments.  This wasn’t like that.  Bucky was her Soulmate.  With her or not, he had brought with him a dangerous world and she needed to adapt quickly.

 

She opened her mouth to accept and snapped her mouth shut.  When she spoke, it was warily.  “Yes, I need training.  But... I’m too afraid of you.”

 

Natasha’s lips twitched.  “Why?  You have no problem around Bruce.”

 

“You’re kidding, right?” Darcy gaped at her.  She turned to Steve.  “Is she kidding?  Would you even _know_ if she was kidding?”

 

Steve scowled slightly but didn’t answer.  

 

“Ah...” Darcy looked at Natasha and decided the truth would always be safest.  “You’re an Avenger,” she said.  At Natasha’s unimpressed look, she realized how lame that seemed.  “I mean, Steve’s a super soldier, Thor is a demi-god, Bruce is an impervious Hulk, Tony has the suit, and Clint’s vision kinda puts him into the ‘super’ category.  Everybody else got in based on some kind of extra-normal amazingness. You’re... a woman.  A very badass, petite,  _human_ woman and you hold your own with all of them.  What could _possibly_ be scarier?”

 

Natasha smiled beatifically.  “I knew you were smarter than you let on.”

 

“Um.  Thank you?”

 

“Skye can train you,” Steve said before Darcy could take any further offense.  “I would, but you should start slow.  Start with Skye.  Get used to Natasha.  Then you can train with her.”

 

Darcy didn’t see how this was an improvement.  It implied a great deal of further interaction with Natasha.  Then again, she thought, it was a spy’s world she was wading into.  If she could learn to pal around and train with Natasha, nothing could touch her.

  
“Well, shit.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's shorter because Natasha, guys. NATASHA. Also, if there's any confusion, Steve's apartment is the way it is because this takes place directly after CATWS


	4. Trouble in Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Netflix, tons of food and bickering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Soooo sorry for the delay! [THIS](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6513943) ate my brain last week! But no worries! We are back to our semi-regularly scheduled crackfest and I've written an extra long chapter to make up for the delay. 
> 
> Edit: Thanks to my wonderful beta, [CatrinaSL](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CatrinaSL) who saved the day :D
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :D

 

 

 

 

“I don’t understand,” Steve said.  “Is Donna his partner or his secretary?”

 

“I believe her job title is Senior Assistant to the White House Deputy Chief of Staff,” Darcy answered.  “But she’s pretty much his work wife.”

 

Natasha ruled that training would begin when Darcy wasn’t grey colored or shaky and so had sent Darcy and Steve home with firm instructions to relax and “be friends.”  Darcy decided the best way to do that was to find her happy place, which was deeply ensconced in Netflix and take-out.  Steve was hungry, so that worked out perfectly.  They collected an astounding amount of take-out menus on the way back, picking up whatever Steve’s stomach had growled at as his motorcycle roared passed.  They couldn’t decide on one type of cuisine, and as such there were the scant remains of a delightful little buffet on the coffee table before them.  Darcy’s objection that Coulson would be bringing food for them later had only made Steve chuckle.

 

As for the Netflix part of her happy place, Darcy had decided on her happiest of places, The West Wing, which was currently confusing Steve’s perception of secretarial work.  His brow furrowed as he considered her answer and the wasabi on the end of his chopstick, his mouth silently forming the words ‘work wife.’  He settled on smearing the wasabi on some KFC chicken and ripping off a bite.  Odd choice, but Darcy followed suit for the hell of it.  Not bad.

 

“Like you and Jane?” he asked.

 

Darcy tried not to choke on her food and laughed.  “Oh, God, please don’t say that around Thor.  It’ll rain for a week.  ...But, yeah.”

 

Steve grinned devilishly and Darcy made a mental note to take extra rain gear to New York.  She snatched the rest of her chow mein off the coffee table and wriggled deep into the couch, curling her legs under her.  

 

Josh yelled for Donna for the umpteenth time on the television and Darcy giggled.  

 

“Man, someone really needs to cut together a YouTube video of all the times he shouts her name.”

 

Steve wasn’t listening.  He was sat ramrod straight, his head cocked oddly, clearly listening for something.  She reached for the remote to shut off the sound but he stopped her and reached for his shield, which he had unpacked and leaned against the end of the couch.  He gestured her to follow him as he stood.  Her brows shot skywards but she uncurled slowly and deposited the chow mein back on the coffee table.

 

And then, as they were inching their way up the stairs, over the roar of blood in her ears, she heard it.  

 

Music.

 

_“They said when Janie was arrested_

_They found him underneath a train...”_

 

Darcy’s shoulders dropped down from around her ears and her breath released in a whoosh.  She knew full well what they were about to find.  

 

“Steve,” she hissed.  He ticked his head towards her to indicate he was listening.  “It’s fine.  It’s Bucky.  He left something for me in the clock-radio.”

 

Steve held his shield up to cover them more completely and turned to look at her incredulously.  She rolled her eyes and motioned at him to continue, but she was significantly more calmed.

 

She listened to Steven Tyler sing of Janie’s woes and barely suppressed a giggle.  Steve motioned for her to wait at the top of the stairs as he cleared the upstairs carefully and walked back with the clock-radio in his hands, Joe Perry ripping through a brilliant guitar solo.  

 

He looked at her expectantly.  

 

“Ten bucks says there’s a gun in there.”

 

As if on cue, Steven Tyler’s voice crooned about Janie’s gun possession.

 

“He had it coming,” Darcy dead-panned.

 

“Who else knows about this?” Steve asked.

 

“Skye.  Probably Coulson.”

 

“And there’s no way anyone else knows about this?”

 

Darcy sighed.  “I don’t know!  Does HYDRA have mics like Skye?”

 

“Skye’s is a prototype.  Parabolic mics are usually huge, easy to detect and easy to throw off.”

 

Darcy blinked at him.  “Thank you, Captain Bond.  Does that mean we can open the Bucky Box now?”

 

“No.  Not until I can be sure it won’t explode.”

 

“Are you kidding me?!  The place has been under surveillance all day and the only one capable of sneaking in and out of here left hours ago!”

 

Steve squared his shoulders and pinned Darcy with a Look.  Darcy placed her fists on her hips and Looked right back at him.  Fortunately, there was a brisk knock at the door, and Steve’s focus shifted.  

 

“Come in!” Darcy called.

 

“ _Darcy!_ ” Steve hissed.  

 

“What?  It’s Coulson.”  She rolled her eyes as he glared at her.  “HYDRA doesn’t knock, Steve!”

 

Steve didn’t have the chance to argue.  At the sound of the door opening, he leaped gracefully over the stair railing and landed lightly with his shield before him, the (still wailing) Bucky Box in one hand behind him.  When he saw it was, indeed, Coulson, he lowered his shield.  

 

“Phil,” he said with a nod to the startled spy.  He turned and watched Darcy walk down the stairs like a normal human being.  “‘HYDRA doesn’t knock’ is not an acceptable reason to yell out open invitations, Darcy.”

 

Coulson took a moment to pop his eyeballs back into his skull before he nodded in agreement and kicked the door shut behind him.  He needed a few more moments to recover his voice from the sight of Combat Ready Steve (complete with a rocking soundtrack).

 

“Is that or is that notPhil Coulson, Director of Totally-Not-S.H.I.E.L.D?” Darcy said peevishly as Steve set down his shield to lock and relock the front door.

 

“It is this time.  You never know who could be on the other side of a door.”

 

“I guess I missed the memo about HYDRA being an organization of vampire Nazis!  And here I thought they were just regular Nazis!”

 

“ _Vampires_? What th—?”

 

“Uh, guys?” Phil cut in, warily.  Steve and Darcy turned to him from where they had stopped to bicker in front of the door.  Phil held out his hands in a placating gesture, a large canvas bag full of food dangling from his left.  “You’re both right.  While yelling out invitations is ill-advised, if HYDRA were ever to make it past our security team, knocking and waiting for an invitation would probably not be high on their list of priorities.  That said,” Phil raised his voice over Darcy’s crow of victory, “The Captain raises an interesting—albeit disturbing—possibility of our team being infiltrated.  I’ll be sure to advise the rest of the team that the only people entering the premises from here on out will be myself, Skye and members of the Avengers team.”

 

“What about Bucky?” Darcy asked after a sharp glare at Steve.  She knew which battles she could win and which she would lose.  Tighter security measures was not one she was likely to win at the moment.

 

“No,” Steve said quickly.  “Especially not Bucky.  He won’t be back until he’s sure he’s rid of HYDRA and if he comes back before then, we’ll have bigger problems.”

 

Darcy’s mouth clicked shut.  The Man with a Plan had a terrifying point.  Natasha’s metaphor about marathons was beginning to weigh heavily on Darcy.  She had assumed a week, maybe two, but no.  This was her life now, for the foreseeable future and possibly beyond that.  She slipped her hands under her glasses and rubbed her eyes as a headache began to bloom behind them.  She let out a gusty sigh, held out her hands and looked back up at Steve.  

 

“Can I have my gun, now?”

 

“I’m sorry, what?” Coulson spluttered.   

 

“Steve has my gun in the Bucky Box and I would like to see it now.”

 

“You don’t know what is in here,” Steve brandished the box with what Darcy felt to be exaggerated care.  

 

Coulson, recognizing the clock-radio and sensing another argument, cut in once again.  “How about I get a dwarf and make sure it’s safe?”

 

“Thank you, Phil,” Steve said.  “The voice of reason.”

 

“More like the voice of paranoia,” Darcy grumbled, and set herself to picking up the lunchtime buffet.  Netflix-and-Gorge was clearly on hold until Steve and Coulson were satisfied with the safety of the Bucky Box, so she might as well clean up.

 

Coulson took the canvas bag into the kitchen and asked Fitz for a dwarf over his comms device.  “Are you two even hungry?” he called.  

 

Darcy barked out a laugh. “Don’t worry, Director,” she called back.  “From what I can tell, Steve consumes about a hundred calories for every breath he takes.  We’re totally ready for whatever culinary experience you have in mind.”  She paused and frowned to herself.  “Hey, Steve?” she asked softly.  Steve looked up from his careful perusal of the Bucky Box on the coffee table.  “Does...” She wanted to ask if Bucky had been injected with the same super-soldier serum, concerned about whether he was eating enough while on the run, but she remembered the look on Steve’s face the day before and decided on a more roundabout approach.  “Uh, does... your appetite have to do with the serum?”

 

Steve, who had not fallen off a turnip truck recently, clearly saw right through the roundabout approach.  He simply quirked a brow before he nodded and returned his attention to the device before him.  Darcy screwed her face up in distaste.  Yeah, that was pretty lame.  She flopped onto the couch beside him and flicked her gaze between him and the Bucky Box.  The song had started over again.  She wondered how many times it would play before they opened it.  When Steve turned to look at her, she gave him a sardonic look.  

 

Steve sighed through his nose.  “What makes you so positive I’m wrong?” he asked.

 

“Process of elimination?  He’s done it before!”  Darcy elaborated when Steve gave her a wholly unconvinced look.  “He gave me the bug sweeper and a phone and signaled it with a song by The Who that had his Words to me.  Which, if you think about it, is a good sign, right?  Means he remembers more than just awful stuff.  Or that he can Google lyrics.  Not sure.  Great musical choices so far, though.”

 

A perfunctory knock at the front door signaled company.  Skye opened the door and poked her head in without waiting for an answer.  Steve’s shield slid to the floor with a loud clang.  Skye looked at the shield on the floor and cringed up at Steve, who had moved instinctively to stand between Darcy and the door.  

 

“Sorry!” she squeaked.  “You needed dwarves?”  She held up the small metal suitcase in her hand like a peace offering.

 

“Yup!” Darcy said, poking her head around Steve, making grabby hands at the case.  “To prove my Bucky Box isn’t deadly.”    

 

Skye paused to blink owlishly at Darcy and then snickered.  “Wow.  I’ve got three—no, four!— really dirty jokes I’m not comfortable saying in front of Captain America.”

 

Steve smirked as he stooped to pick up his shield and close the door behind Skye.

 

Darcy let out an exasperated sound.  “Just do the thing so I can turn this damn song off already!”

 

Skye hummed along to Aerosmith as she set about controlling the buzzing dwarves.  Darcy dug her phone out of her pocket and recorded a few seconds of the scene and shot it off in a text to Bucky:

 

**_{Help.}_ **

 

In retrospect, her timing could have been a little better.

 

In Darcy’s defense, she wasn’t expecting a reply.  However, one came almost instantly.  Just not to her.  

 

Just as Steve’s phone started blasting _Frosty the Snowman_ at an earsplitting volume, the dwarf controller emitted a shrill, urgent beeping sound.  Coulson rushed into the living room, knife in hand.  In the same instant, Skye squealed “Oooh, it has gunpowder!” and sirens began to blast from the television.   

 

Steve, in a move Darcy felt was clear evidence of why he was Captain America and no one else, gently removed Darcy from the potentially hysterical area with a quick tug on her hand.  He placed his body and shield firmly between her and any dangers coming from the hectic living room and moved them into the sitting room off the kitchen.  Once they were away from the knife wielding spy, the sentient clock-radio, the gunpowder, the squealing agent and the divisive television show, then, and only then, did he answer the gratingly irritating sound of his phone with a terse, “ _I hate you_.”

 

Darcy cursed when Steve squeezed her hand a bit too tightly and she barely managed to wriggle free as he said, utterly bewildered, “Bucky?”

 

“Bucky?” Darcy asked.  She lunged for Steve’s phone but was deftly swatted aside.

 

“I’m sorry.  I thought you were Tony,” Steve was saying into the phone.  

 

Darcy stopped short and _cackled_.  “Wait, so are you Frosty the Snowman or is he?”

 

“Why would you leave her a gun, Bucky?”

 

“It’s for shooting people, Steve!” Darcy answered.  

 

Steve scowled at Darcy, clearly being pestered from both ends of the phone-call.  He rolled his eyes at Bucky’s answer.  “Yes, that’s what Darcy said.  I was hoping for a more mature answer from you.”

 

“That’s your problem, not ours, Steve.”

 

“I’m hanging up now.  Next time leave a note, dammit.”

 

“Well, that wouldn’t be very sneaky, would it?”

 

Steve jabbed the End Call button on his phone and cracked the glass.  He made an irritated face at it.  “Are you two Soulmates or just the same person?” he groused.  “It was like being answered in stereo surround.”

 

Darcy grinned broadly.  “Fate knows its shit, Steve.”

 

“Fate can be wrong,” he said distractedly, picking at the glass on his phone, making sure there weren’t any loose shards.

 

Darcy was stopped from asking him what the hell _that_ meant by Skye bouncing into the room with them.

 

“Darcy’s right!” she announced.  “It’s a gun.  A revolver from the looks of the scan.  Can we open it?  I want to know how he rigged it to do that.”

 

“He gutted it and rigged it with a phone,” Darcy answered as she brushed passed her into the living room.  She let Skye peek over her shoulder as she silenced the music with a quick press of the Alarm button and pried open the top of the clock-radio.  

 

“Oooh, clever,” Skye cooed.  “He can send and receive data from it, that way.  Y’know, like a bug?” she added pointedly.

 

“He pulled the mic out,” Darcy said absently.  She was busy fondling the beautiful little .38 Special he’d left her.  It was her turn to coo.  “Ooooh, it has a laser sight!” 

 

“Darcy,” Steve said wearily.  “I really don’t like the idea of you having a gun.”

 

“I don’t like the idea of being unarmed.  Deal with it, Cap.”

 

“You have a taser, which is non-lethal and much safer.”

 

“You mean I have a taser which is only good for one shot and, oh yeah, illegal in New York, where we'll be going soon.  Guns are not illegal in New York.”

 

“Oh, good,” Skye cut in, sarcastically.  “That makes perfect sense.”  Skye quailed under Steve’s annoyed glare.  “Hey, look at the time!  I gotta go!”  She collected the dwarves and slipped out the door at an impressive speed.

 

Coulson dropped a stack of papers on the coffee table in front of Darcy.  “Once you sign these NDAs,” he said, “we can talk about you joining S.H.I.E.L.D. and issuing you an ICER, instead.”

 

Darcy frowned.  She had no idea what an ICER was, but she liked her revolver.  “How about ‘None of the Above’?”

 

Steve sighed.  “None of that will be necessary, Phil.”  

 

“I’m sorry, Captain?”

 

“Bucky spoke to me so Darcy wouldn’t have to.”  

 

“Alright.  We can discuss it over dinner,” Coulson conceded and returned to the kitchen.

 

Steve and Darcy set to helping Coulson finish cooking dinner and setting the table, bickering over the Smith & Wesson the entire time.  Half an hour later, they were sitting down to eat and showed little sign of stopping.  

 

“Argh!  Steve!” Darcy exclaimed.  “It’s easy for you to decide not to use a weapon when you, yourself, _are_ a damned weapon!  At the very least the gun gives me a chance to hold off a few baddies until you or someone else can get to me!”

 

“That’s why you’ll be training w—”

 

“And until then, what?  I’m a sitting duck!”

 

Coulson, who appeared to be nursing the beginning of a headache, cut in. “Perhaps now would be a good time to discuss the conversation you had with Sergeant Barnes, Captain.”

 

Steve’s shoulders tensed a bit as he launched into an explanation.  Evidently, Bucky knew about the classified base and the classified investigation S.H.I.E.L.D. had launched when they’d caught sight of him nearby.  However, Bucky had found two HYDRA cells in the area which were closing in on The Playground’s location and managed to misdirect them.  Darcy had run into him in the midst of an unexpected run-in with half of one of those cells.  He had returned now to investigate and eliminate them.  

 

Coulson was not pleased.  He made a reasonable request for any information Steve could provide.

 

The source of Steve’s earlier frustration after Bucky left became apparent when he revealed that Bucky had insisted on not only doing this project on his own but he had also refused to turn over any information.

 

“Unless,” Steve concluded, “you agree to protect and train Darcy without forcing her to become a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.”

 

Suddenly, Steve’s idea that she train with Skye made much more sense.  It was Bucky’s plan the whole time.  Darcy wasn’t clear on the advisability of blackmailing a spy agency, but she trusted Bucky and Steve’s judgment and decided to remain silent.  For now.

 

“As a sign of good faith,” Steve continued before Coulson could argue further, “he agreed to let me tell you why.  Darcy is Bucky’s Soulmate.  Darcy and I have decided to fake a relationship as cover and to distance her from Bucky in the eyes of his enemies.”

 

A light seemed to go off over Coulson’s head as the implications dawned on him.  “Ah,” he said.  “Everything is much, much clearer now.  Yes, Captain, I believe we can agree to those terms, so long as the information Barnes provides pans out.”

 

“Thank you, Phil.”  A weight seemed to lift from Steve’s shoulders and from the dinner table as a whole.  They finished their meal with friendly chatter and made plans for scheduling Darcy’s training.  Apparently, Skye was currently being trained, as well, so they could train together.  This appealed to Darcy as Skye was quickly becoming a friend, and it appealed to Steve as it would give him time to keep up with some of his Avenger duties while Darcy was with Skye and Agent May (who Steve assured her was just as capable of protecting her as he was; this information both calmed and terrified Darcy in equal measure).

 

As dinner wound down and they set to cleaning up, it seemed that Steve had silently enforced a ceasefire on the topic of Darcy’s firearm, at least for the night.

 

Or so she thought.  

 

After they had said their goodbyes to Coulson and had resettled to watch The West Wing, Steve brought it up again.

 

“About the gun,” he began.  He held up a hand when Darcy made a noise of frustration.  “Hear me out.  Can we go to the gun range together until I am confident you’re safe with it?”

 

Darcy fumed silently for a moment.  “If I were a guy, would you ask the same of me?” she bit out.

 

“ _Yes_ , Darcy,” he said firmly.  “It’s not about what’s under your shirt.  I don’t like guns out of wartime but I’m not naive.  Members of my team use guns.  I don’t like the idea of you carrying it around without seeing you handle it, first.”

 

“Fine.  Under one condition.”

 

“What?” Steve asked warily.

 

“Stop keeping secrets from me, dammit,” she snapped.  “You should have told me everything you told Coulson over dinner.  It’s my right to know when and what plans are being made about _me_ and _my life_.”

 

Steve cringed and scrubbed a hand through his hair.  “I’m sorry.  You’re right.  That was wrong of me.”

 

Darcy blinked.  “That’s it?  You’re not going to argue with me?”

 

Steve smiled softly.  “I can admit when I’m wrong.  Besides,” he said, his smile widening.  “I think we’ve argued enough for one day.”

 

Darcy huffed out a laugh and sunk back into the couch cushions.  It was relatively early still, but she was exhausted.  “Someday,” she began, wearily. “I won’t be too tired to actually work on my thesis.  Think that’ll be soon?”

 

Steve clasped her shoulder.  “I hope so.  It would crush Bucky to see you like this.”  He stood and held out his hand.  “Come on.  Let’s get you to sleep.”

 

She took his hand with her left and shut off the TV with her right.  

 

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all day, Steve.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Darcy's gun](http://www.sportsmansguide.com/product/index/smith-amp-wesson-mampp-bodyguard-38-crimson-trace-revolver-38-special-10062-022188865134?a=1812514&SID=prodSGgun&CJ=1&cjaffilid=7180513&cjaffsite=WOS%2c+Inc.&cjadv=CJTSGUSA&cjadvid=1522857&utm_source=WOS%2c+Inc.&utm_medium=CJ&utm_campaign=Redirect-Enabled+Deep+Link)


	5. Eye of the Tiger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training montage! Inner monologues! Monologues! Bucky makes a bad pun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOoooo sorry for the delay, folks! Here's a couple extra thousand words. Please forgive me? Updates will be slow coming, lots of (awesome!) family stuff going on right now. 
> 
> SO many thank yous and I love yous so my handholders and my betas, the lovely [MissMorwen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMorwen/pseuds/MissMorwen)  
> and [CatrinaSL](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CatrinaSL/pseuds/CatrinaSL)  
> , fanfic goddesses <3

 

  
  
  
By the time Darcy had managed to summon both the time and the energy to apply herself to her thesis, two months had stumbled past her in a blur of bruises, weaponry and sleep deprivation.

 

They had settled almost immediately into a brutal routine.  Darcy would wake early and go for a run with Steve.  ‘With’ being a relative term, for Steve Rogers was and ever shall be, a cheeky bastard.  It wasn’t enough to force her to squeeze into three sports bras and exercise at the asscrack of dawn, oh no.  He goaded her by loping past at superhuman speeds with a snarky “On your left” every time.  The third morning, Darcy’s patience had flown the coop and she began to anticipate the steady slap of his feet on the pavement behind her.  She timed it just so and when he was just about level with her, Darcy dropped and stuck her leg out to the side, neatly catching him in the ankles.  Until the day she died, Darcy would never forget the sight of Captain America going ass over teacup in front of her at a frankly alarming speed.  He, of course, turned his fall into a magnificent roll and bounced back up on his feet, grinning ear to ear.  After that, he adapted his routine to alternating between trotting one lap with her and two quick (wordless) laps around her.  

 

The vicious pinch of the bruises on her leg stayed with her for over a week, but it had been worth it.  And, ultimately, it didn’t matter.  Those bruises joined a motley crew of marks on her body: cuts, bruises, scrapes, blisters and, eventually, calluses.

 

After their run, Steve and Darcy would take turns on breakfast duty, but Steve would leave them to it when Skye and Agent May arrived to train with her in the backyard.  

 

Apparently, Melinda May and Skye had a great deal of anger they were working through and Darcy had fallen into the middle of it.  They applied themselves to training with a ferocity found only in women scorned; Darcy scrambled to find the same fire within herself just to keep up.  While she wasn’t foolish enough to ask questions, the reason behind their ire was evident in the glib “pretend it’s his head” sort of comments they made, and the resulting pulverization of many a practice dummy.  

 

Neither of them were happy until someone was nauseous from training. It was just fine with Darcy that she was always the first to tap out.  She would stick around to watch until Skye would beg for mercy, which wouldn’t come until Natasha arrived.  May and Natasha seemed to communicate telepathically, as she never arrived at the same time, but it was always the at the _right_ time.  They would spar each other while Skye and Darcy cooled down and watched them carefully, awed and terrified, knowing the day would come when they would have to train against the best S.H.I.E.L.D. had to offer.  May and Natasha weren’t quite evenly matched, but they seemed to relish in the friendly battles all the same.  

 

Once Skye and May had left for the day and Darcy was bathed, fed and watered, most days Natasha would take her to a suspiciously vacant gun range.  When Darcy asked about it, Natasha had smiled enigmatically and said, “The sign says, ‘Closed after 1pm until further notice.’”  

 

Natasha had taken up Darcy’s weapons training at Steve’s behest, only two days after Darcy had proven she was more than capable of handling guns safely.  Natasha and Steve agreed that good aim wouldn’t be enough to help Darcy in any high-stress situations.  

 

Other days, Natasha embellished upon Steve’s broad term of “weapons training” to include knives, staff, batons and everything Darcy would need for an exotic weapons proficiency (such as a rolled up magazine, pens, shoes and any other item Natasha happened to come across).

 

Natasha and May also maintained a running dialogue with Darcy, imparting tactical wisdom and tips on subterfuge, such as how to effectively stall during an interrogation and why being tied to a chair is worse for an enemy than it is for her.  When Darcy prompted her to teach her how to do that, she was met with a humorless chuckle.

 

“Learn to block a punch first and then we’ll see,” Natasha had said.  

 

Darcy had been sporting a vicious black eye at the time, not having ducked an errant elbow from Skye.  Natasha had set a new rule that Darcy could not be seen in public with Steve until her eye had healed and until she had learned to block limbs—errant or otherwise—from connecting with her face.  

 

Which was just as well, really, as Darcy had only had time to see Steve once she’d returned home from the range, her body overworked and her brain leaking from her ears.  Steve had taken one look at her the second day and begun drawing a bath of Epsom salts for her to soak in while he prepared a late dinner for her (ie, ordered take-out) and queued up Netflix for her to fall asleep.

 

While weekends were normally calmer than weekdays, they were still filled with training.  Natasha and Steve would take her out of town to a massive farm area. There they would teach her how to handle large weapons and explosives (mainly, “ _don't”_ ), evasive driving and how to evade hostiles considerably larger, faster, and stronger than average.  The goal behind this particular training was for Darcy to implement everything she learned against Steve.  She chose not to put too much thought into why and Steve never said it out loud, but the firm set of his mouth as he fixed his shield to his left arm told her all she needed to know: they were training her to survive The Winter Soldier.  (As for how Natasha knew... Well.  Darcy knew better than to ask stupid questions.)

  


The Saturday Darcy was finally able to sit down with her books and turn on her laptop was a complete fluke.  

 

The night before, Darcy returned from a particularly eventful day with Natasha (weaponizing fruit) to see that Coulson had stopped by to make them dinner for the first time in the last two months. He’d taken one look at her and pinned Steve with the sternest expression she’d ever seen in her life.  When she’d returned from her ritual soak and slather (Dr Cho had sent her a personal concoction which served to soothe her aches with only a faint, pleasant scent), Coulson was just winding down from an evidently impressive lecture on how killing Darcy through training had most assuredly not been Bucky’s intention.

 

Darcy was halfway through her run that morning when she realized she didn’t need to be out of bed yet. Saturday was supposed to have been _her_ day, and she had planned to actually do some studying for a change. There was nothing commanding her to rush or focus on replaying every single last second from the day before so she could answer May’s questions while trying to duck blows.  She could let her mind wander or think about her breathing as she ran or she could plan her blessedly free day, rather than wonder if Steve would test her awareness with another “harmless” prank (paranoia _is_ harmful, Rogers).  (Actually, she should keep her wits about her on that anyway.  Steve wasn’t above inappropriately timed glitter bombs.  However, at least she actually had time and brain space to plan retaliation.)

 

She slowed her pace and enjoyed the air and scenery around the day’s randomly picked route.  A behemoth of a man was her detail for the day as Steve had zipped off to... do whatever Steve did.  Someday in the future, when Darcy was less resentful of his pranks and graceful supersoldier physicality, she’d wonder what the hell he did with his time.  For now, she’d actually speak to the monolith of a man who was accompanying her for what must have been the fifth time out, rather than just take note of where he was at all times and where she’d need to kick him to make a getaway if necessary.  Darcy felt the familiar gurgle of anger bubble inside her.  He was her security detail.  He had a kind face and his name was Mack, yet here she was contemplating just how hard a man his size would fall.  She knew she was in no position to be too cautious, she knew it was a good sign that she was aware of the people and sounds around her, she knew she needed this, she knew, she knew, _she knew_ , dammit.  

 

Rather than push the thoughts away and strike up a conversation, she let the anger rumble through her.  She let her thoughts go there and she examined them.  Did she blame Bucky?

 

No.  She didn’t.  She blamed Fate.  If they were Soulmates, why was Fate putting her in a position to change the most fundamental things about her?  If Fate’s plan was for her to change, what the hell was the point of her being his Soulmate?  Why not someone already jaded, paranoid and violent?

 

Darcy slowed to a stop and began to pace in a circle.  Mack eyed her carefully, but said nothing and kept a safe distance.  

 

Bucky was jaded, paranoid and violent, with damn good reason.  Enough for the both of them.  If she entered any kind of relationship with Bucky as she was letting herself become, it would be the equivalent of throwing an aerosol into a fire pit.  She’d explode and disappear into the fire, and never be able to put herself back together again.  

 

No, this, right here, was why she was his Soulmate.  Her self-awareness.  When this started she may have been oblivious to her surroundings, but she was always self-aware and she was wholly herself, at all times.  She had let fear command her for the last two months because it seemed to make the most sense, but that had been a mistake. Learning how to fell a man three times her size did not mean she needed to change her character.  She saw through the bullshit and flashing lights surrounding people and problems alike.  Letting fear and cynicism cloud her vision would prevent her from seeing anything, most of all Bucky, who probably needed it most.

 

She stopped pacing and took a deep breath.  She looked towards Mack with a broad grin.  

 

“Do you like coffee, Mack?”  

 

He smiled warmly at her.  “Yeah, I enjoy coffee as much as the next guy.”

 

“Awesome!  Lets hit Starbucks.”

 

“Ma’am?”

 

“I’m off today, Mack!  That means sugary coffee and studying and planning my revenge against Steve.”  She looped an arm through one of the tree-trunks Mack used as arms and smiled devilishly at him.  “How would you like to pull a prank on Captain America?”

 

Mack’s face scrunched slightly as he carefully considered the idea.  “As fun as I know that would be, I have to work with Coulson all day.  The fallout from him alone would not be worth it.  Anything you tell me is always strictly confidential, though.”

 

Darcy chuckled and felt a weight begin to melt away from her body.  She hadn’t even been aware it was there, but as she chatted amiably with Mack, she felt as if she were walking out of the sea, the tension dragging less and less at her body, washing away and staying behind her.

  


**_{Who’s the MACK truck?}_ **

 

Darcy stared incredulously at the text on her phone.  She broke cell phone etiquette and poked her phone to call the number.  The line clicked open on the fourth ring, which only served to irritate her further because she knew the phone was in his damn hand.  When Bucky said nothing, she treated Mack to a fabulous display of eye rolling.

 

“Mack,” she answered slowly as if speaking to an idiot (she suspected she might be).  

 

“Yeah, MACK,” Bucky’s voice drawled in her ear.  The sound sent a jolt through her.  “Y’know, those 18 wheelers that stock up grocery stores?”

 

Darcy laughed in spite of herself.  There was no way Bucky didn’t know every detail about her security team.  “Very funny, JB.  Did you spend all day coming up with that?  Don’t quit your day job.”

 

“JB, huh?”  

 

“Yup.  That’s how you sign your notes.  I guess it stuck in my head.”

 

Bucky had whiled away the hours he had spent in the house two months ago writing and hiding sticky notes amongst her things.  Nothing soul-shattering, just idle observations about the colors of her sweaters, the apparent lack of use of a few daring dresses and comments on her small collection tchotchkes.  Rather than turn the house upside down looking for them, she’d decided to find them naturally.  It led to wonderful bits of joy in her week.  She stuck them up around the mirror of her tiny IKEA vanity, and they’d turned into a beautiful array of color and snark in neat, cramped handwriting.  Each one was initialed: “-JB.”  

 

Every time she found one, she’d text him.  A simple hello or a question (it irked her to know how Steve took his coffee but not Bucky, so she just started asking).  Once, she’d even pulled on one of those ridiculous dresses and snapped a photo for him.  The note had fluttered out while she was rifling for something loose to wear out to the farm.  She hadn’t sent him the photo.  She had felt vulnerable and foolish with her black eye, and even though the photo was from the neck down, the flouncy dress seemed to mock her with its cheer.  

 

She just might send it today, though.

 

“I like it,” he said after a long pause in which he seemed to consider the unintentional nickname.  There was a timbre of something bittersweet in his voice she couldn’t quite decipher.

 

“How do you know I’m with Mack?  Are you in town?  Cuz I’d really prefer a more hands-on approach.”

 

“I got eyes everywhere.  Especially on you.”

 

“You’re a fugitive,” she scoffed.  “How can you possibly have a network?”

 

“Spies never tell their secrets, sugar.  And, technically, I’m still POW.”

 

Darcy’s eyes narrowed.  Something about the way he said it tickled the back of her mind.  She paused as she and Mack reached the front porch.  She stooped and picked up the mail (including a very obvious glitter bomb Steve had sent her).

 

“Technically, you’re still KIA,” she shot back.

 

She heard Bucky inhale sharply and for a moment she thought she took the banter too far.  “How did you know?”

 

Darcy froze in the act of unlocking the door.  “Um.  What?”

 

“How did you know who I was?  In the alley?”

 

Of course, this had to come up eventually.  She supposed she was grateful it was over the phone, so he couldn’t see her panic.  There was nothing for her to be ashamed of, but really, she shouldn’t have known.  She pushed into the house and tossed a jaunty wave and a smile over her shoulder at Mack.  

 

“Short version:  Thor doesn’t have an inside voice.”

 

“That must get awkward.  I still don’t see how that leads to you knowing who I am.”

 

“Steve told Thor, partly because he needed a hand finding you and partly because Thor is a mother hen whose brooding equals shitty weather.  Steve was brooding inwardly, like a good little drama queen, and Thor wasn’t having it.  When the weather didn’t improve, Jane made Thor tell her.  I heard the whole thing.  Thor never said your name but, who the hell else would it be?  I’ve studied the Howling Commandos my whole life.  You were the only one it could have been.”

 

“You’ve studied the Howlies your whole life?”

 

“I tell you I eavesdrop on superheroes and _that’s_ what you focus on?”

 

“I’ve done worse,” he answered simply.

 

“Does it really count if you were brainwashed and turned into something else?”

 

“It does when I remember everything.”

 

Darcy felt her blood run cold.  She breathed deeply and swallowed around the furious scream building in her chest.  She must not let the anger control her.  The violence must be his own.  She must be his peace, his port in a storm.

 

Screw it.

 

“Hey, anyway I can help with the elimination of HYDRA?”

 

“Yeah, actually,” he drawled.  “Finish your thesis.  Help the Avengers.  Change the world.  I can’t do this on my own.”

 

Darcy huffed a laugh.  “Yeah, sure.  My thesis is going to keep the Avengers safe from the political shitstorm coming their way.  Natasha said some really stupid shit on Capitol Hill.  Like... _what?_ ”

 

“Did you tell her that?”  Bucky didn’t even try to hide his amusement.

 

“I’m breathing, aren’t I?” Darcy answered wryly.  She heard the roar of Steve’s Harley and pouted.  “Hey, I gotta go.  If Steve knows I’m talking to you, he’ll look at me like I shot his dog.  Eagles will cry.  It’ll be a mess.”

 

Bucky chuckled.  “Yeah, I know that look.  Be good, doll.  I’ll call you soon.”

 

Darcy hung up and reached into the refrigerator to violently shake the first four of Steve’s cans of Coke.  His approach to sugar and sugary drinks was, “No rations, yay!” and therefore drank absurd amounts of colas, juices, and flavored coffees.  She zipped away from the fridge as he walked through the front door and dropped his keys onto the kitschy, ceramic bald eagle end table next to the door.  (Darcy had purchased it while half asleep and fully sore from training with Steve.  Steve accepted it as punishment with far too much grace.  She vowed to do better next time.)

 

By the time Steve had meandered into the kitchen, Darcy had busied herself sorting through the mail.  He greeted her with a kind smile and, sure enough, reached into the fridge for a Coke.  Darcy whooped happily as the can burst open with a loud crack and a fizz, soaking his shirt and face.  She moved in quickly, pulling her weapon out from the back waistband of her yoga pants.  Before Steve had time to blink fizzy soda out of his eyes, she popped open the glitter bomb and covered him in a plume of sparkly, shimmery doom.  Sure, she took some friendly fire, but nothing was going to get that sparkly shit out of the sticky mess of his hair.  

 

Steve leveled her with a shimmery glare and Darcy cackled loudly.  

 

“Hi, Steve!” she gasped out.  “I got your glitter bomb!”

 

Steve reached forward to draw her into a sticky, glitter infected hug, but she danced lithely from his grasp.  “Ah-ah-ah!  Fair’s fair, Rogers!  Your prank failed.  I used it against you.  Can’t punish me for learning, Sensei!”  When he made to speak, she held up her hand and straightened her face.  Steve’s brow furrowed in concern as she gazed earnestly into his eyes and said, “Dibs on the shower.”

 

“Aw, _come on!_ ” Steve protested.

 

Darcy let loose a fresh bout of cackles but held out her arms when he moved to leave the kitchen.  “Ack!  Nonono!” she said in alarm, suddenly realizing she hadn’t thought this through.  “You can’t infect the rest of the house!  Shirt off!”  She stretched over to the end of her reach, avoiding Steve’s arm-length, and pulled a plastic take-out bag out of the rooster dispenser.  She brandished it at him.  “Strip!  Clothes into the bag!”

 

Steve looked as if he’d just been forced to kiss a dog’s ass, but he gingerly pulled his shirt over his head, careful to dislodge as little glitter as possible.  He balled it up and tossed it into the plastic bag.  

 

“Pants, too.”

 

His scowl deepened.  He turned his back to unbuckle his jeans and Darcy gasped loudly.

 

She had seen his Soulmark several times by now.  He tried to be modest at first, but the heat of sleeping with a shirt on had become unbearable for him.  The first time she’d seen the ‘Mark on his lower back, she’d been startled, but not because Captain America’s Soulmark was a Tramp Stamp.  No, that part had amused her.  What startled her was the appearance of it.  It looked like it had been erased with a poor pencil eraser and something scribbled over it, as if Fate had made a mistake and tried to fix it.  The result had been a heart-wrenching, illegible mess.  

 

Had been. The Soulmark branded onto his back now was crisp and clear, rounded looped handwriting winking with stray bits of glitter in the sunlight streaming through the windows.  Had he seen it?  When was the last time he’d bothered to look at it?  Darcy tried to think to the last time _she’d_ seen it.  Last week.  It had still been smudged.  Steve left for a few days after that and had been tight lipped about it.  She didn’t ask.

 

But now, as rude as it was to talk about Soulmarks... what if he didn’t know?  Surely they’d reached a level of trust where she should mention it?

 

Steve turned around at her gasp, confused.  “You just said stri - Darcy?” he asked sharply, suddenly concerned.  “What is it?”

 

She met the impossibly honest, blue of his eyes and felt herself crumple.  She fish mouthed a few times, but her mouth was too dry to speak.  She breathed deep and cleared her throat.  “Your Soulmark.”

 

Steve’s face shut down and his entire body went rigid.  “It’s faded.  Gone.  I know.”

 

“No, Steve, yours was never fading,” she stepped towards him, certain now that she was doing the right thing, but he backed away from her.  “When was the last time you looked at it?” she pressed.

 

“I don’t want to talk about this, Darcy.”    


“Steve, it’s clear now!  It’s a new ‘Mark!”

 

He looked at her like she’d sprouted a second head.  “What the fuck are you talking about?” he snapped.  “This had better not be a prank, Lewis.”  

 

Darcy didn’t know what expression had crossed her face, but it seemed to break Steve, which was just as well because the insinuation that she would screw with him about this wounded her deeply.  His shoulders slumped and his face went slack with shame.  He scrubbed his free hand over his face and a plume of glitter mushroomed over his head.  “Screw infecting the house,” she said, taking hold of his arm.  “Come on.  Master bath.”

 

He followed Darcy up the stairs, his shoulders hunched.  If he’d had a tail, it’d be tucked between his legs.  When they reached the master bath, she tossed the plastic bag into the bathtub and started rummaging for a large hand mirror.  When she turned, Steve was turned with his back to the mirror, craning his head over his shoulder to look at his Soulmark.  Any other man, his face would be a disco ball of facial expressions.  Steve’s was completely shut down and guarded.  She doubted even Natasha would be able to know what he was thinking.

 

Not for the first time, Darcy wished fervently to have been born a mutant.  Invisibility or teleportation would have been extremely useful at the moment.  As that was not the case, she did her best to pretend she wasn’t there, not daring to so much as breathe.

Steve turned his full attention to her.  The absurdity of standing in a bathroom with his best friend’s Soulmate, covered in glitter and shirtless seemed to elude him completely.  “How did you know it was never fading?”

 

Darcy squirmed under the force of his gaze.  “Geez, no wonder you never bothered with spy stuff,” she mumbled.  “One look like that and you’d crack Putin’s strongest operative.”    


“I did,” he said curtly.  “Answer the question.”

 

Darcy gulped.  She’d only ever told Jane the story, and she’d been neck deep in Kalua at the time.  How had this day become so bizarre, so quickly?  She sat on the edge of the tub and looked up at him.

 

“My parents never bothered to hide their Soulmarks,” she began.  “They both had it on their forearm.  It would have been a pain in the ass to hide it at home, so they didn’t.  When my mom got sick, we noticed because Dad’s Soulmark started to look weird.  It wasn’t fading, it was smudging.  Mom’s...” she took a shaky breath.  “My mom’s Soulmark _was_ fading.  We knew she was dying before the doctors even knew what was wrong with her.

 

“At first we thought Dad’s mark wasn’t fading because he was too stubborn to let her go.  As if Fate cares what we want, right?  After Mom passed, Dad’s mark was clear again, but the words were completely different.  They had already been spoken to him.  She was the nurse who had been taking care of us while Mom was sick.  I say us, because she was meant to care for just Mom, but she brought us food, she cleaned, she looked after the cats; she cared about all of us, the whole time.  I guess her words were pretty common in her line of work, so she never guessed it was him.  She’s my step-mother now.  The way they met sucked, but they got around it.

 

“So... my best guess is that sometimes, some very special people have more than one Soulmate.  One great love that leads them to another one.  If Dad hadn’t met Mom, he wouldn’t have met Rachel.”

 

She looked back up at Steve.  His face was shuttered again.  They both knew who his new words were, but enough was enough for the day.  

 

“I’ll just wait for you to finish with the shower.”  Darcy stood to leave, but Steve stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

 

“Thank you, Darcy,” he said thickly.

 

She ducked her head.  “Hey, what are friends for, right?”

 

Steve tugged her into a tight hug.  It took her a few moments to realize he was fluffing glitter off his head and onto hers.

 

She didn’t budge from the hug.  “You’re a shithead, Rogers.”

 

Steve patted her back. “What are friends for, right?”

  
  
  
  
  


 

  



	6. Bombs Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glitter, bombs. Two separate things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this is short as hell and beta free. I thought I'd try coming out of hibernation slowly. Also, have an Election Day freebie for those jitters. If it helps, the election was called a month ago in favor of Hillary by some major math gurus at Harvard. So... double shot of calm, folks. Breathe deep and giggle at this madness.  
> EDIT: The math was wrong. I was wrong. Everything is wrong. Help.

“Did it ever occur to you that you could talk to me about it?” Darcy asked from her perch on her bed.

 

Whether it was meeting her Soulmate or the millions of times Steve handed her ass back to her on his shield, the image of Steve looking at her over his shoulder in utter confusion, boxer briefed ass in the air as he rummaged in his dresser for the crappiest, glitter-worthy clothing he could find, did absolutely nothing for her libido.

 

Darcy huffed when Steve offered nothing as much as a “huh?” in response.

“Your Soulmate, asshole,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I assume that’s where you’ve been? She was sick? Or he! I don’t judge,” she teased.

 

Steve scowled and muttered to himself as he roughly pulled on a pair of her comfiest, over-sized yoga pants. Darcy’s eyes may one day roll out of her head if she had to continue sharing a living space with this adorable, tiny-waisted jerk, but since he was emotionally raw, she let him boggart her pants. Said pants being bright turquoise and bedazzled had nothing to do with it. Nope.

 

“I ain’t sly,” he scowled at her.

 

Darcy cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips. “You’re covered in glitter, shirtless, wearing women’s yoga pants with 'JUICY' bedazzled on your ass. You’re one rainbow flag away from a Pride Parade.”

 

“I’m a victim of circumstance and I’ve been to Pride Parades, thank you very much,” he sniffed imperiously and crossed his arms over his chest. “I am perfectly secure enough in my masculinity to be an ally _and_ steal your fucking pants.”

 

One day she will win an award for her ability to whip out her phone and snap the perfect picture. “Now, turn around and strike a pose, Captain Sassypants.” She cackled gleefully when he glowered at her. “That is going on Twitter,” she crowed, snapping yet another picture of his face sliding from fury to panic.

 

Steve lunged. She shrieked. They grappled for her phone. Steve sat on her.

 

“It’s no use!” she yelled. “It’s a biometric lock! You’ll never get what you want!” She bit his wrist and jabbed her fingers into his ribs, earning her a yelp, room to breathe and a giggling superhero, but not her phone.

 

The sound of the door banging open had Steve quickly stuffing Darcy behind him, to the floor.

 

“Freeze!” yelled Skye, ICER primed to fire. “Captain?” she asked and stepped further into the room.

 

Steve’s hands went skyward and he shouted, “Stop! Don’t come any closer. You’ll get the giggle herp.”

 

“Glitter herp!” supplied Darcy from the carpet.

 

“Giggle herp!” Steve nodded earnestly. “We’re in quarantine.”

 

Darcy was about to emphatically protest to the “quarantine” on her only day off in months when fury flashed through Skye’s eyes and she pulled the trigger.

 

 _“Oof!”_ Darcy found herself pinned between Steve and his bed. Darcy scrambled to examine Steve and pulled the dendrotoxin dart from his chest. She looked up at Skye, baffled.

 

“Skye, what the fuck?! You just ICED a national icon!”

 

“He’s a supersoldier. He’ll live,” she scowled. “When he wakes up tell him that’s for having ‘giggle herp’ stamped - _twice_ \- on my ass for my whole life. Do you have any idea how awkward that makes doggy style?”

 

Darcy floundered for words - and air - under 220lbs of prone Steve. How has the bed not moved under their weight? “He hasn’t spoken to you in _three months_?!”

 

Not what she meant to say.

 

“You _knew_?!” Skye’s weapon came back up.

 

“I just found out!” Darcy lifted her hands up (just one, as the other was pinned under her body). “Help me up,” she wriggled under her Steve-weight. “I’ll tell you what I can!”

 

Skye holstered her ICER. “No, this works for me.” She cocked her head to the side and examined them. “Yup. Two Avengers, one dart. Go me.” Skye nodded to herself and turned to leave.

 

“Wow. Ruthless,” murmured Darcy.

 

“Yup,” Skye called from the hall as she ambled away.

 

“Hey, I’m not an Avenger!”

 

“Keep telling yourself that.”

 

“I’m not, dammit! I’m squished between Steve and his fucking bed!”

 

Skye’s cackle floated up from the stairs. “Better hope Bucky doesn’t hear that!”

 

“Screw you!”

 

“Or that.”

 

Darcy huffed to herself and took stock of her predicament. How is this her life? As human shields went, Steve was pretty perfect. He was splayed across her fully, from head to toe, with her head barely peeking out from under his armpit. Thankfully, he was a clean guy. She tried leveraging her weight between Steve and the bed, to get one of them to shift. No dice. What is this bed even made of, she wondered. She examined the leg of the bed nearest to her and found the bed to be bolted down. “What the hell, Sam?” she wondered aloud. Darcy dug her fingers into Steve’s ribs again. He shifted slightly, but only enough for her to begin to slowly wriggle her hand out from under herself where it was pinned. If Steve were any lighter it might have helped, but no. He was certainly a solid, immovable mass of muscle. This was turning out to be an eye-opening day. He has definitely been going easy on her during training, if his current ability to pin her without trying was any indication.

 

_How is this her life?_

 

The sound of a camera shutter had her head snapping up. She scowled.

 

“I thought you were running off to gloat?” she spat.

 

“Pics or it didn’t happen. _Two_ Avengers, Darcy. I need photo proof.”

 

Darcy growled and shoved angrily at poor Steve. “I’m not an Avenger! I just got felled by a newbie with anger issues!”

 

Skye snorted. “And so did your Captain. Are you saying you need a new leader?”

 

“Because he was protecting me _,_ Skye! The not _-_ Avenger!”

 

Skye rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. And if Bucky needs help, you’d what? Just stay here and sit pretty waiting for your man?”

 

Darcy glared daggers at her newly found nemesis. “That’s personal,” she ground out. “Avengers don’t get personal vendettas. Why are you even here?”

 

“It’s my day off, too, you know,” Skye answered. “I thought you’d be alone. I heard a struggle then you yelled something about biometric security so I came to rescue you. You’re welcome, by the way.”

 

Darcy finally managed to wrench her hand free and used it to flip Skye the bird before tipping Steve over as gently as she could. He flumped over with a decidedly un-gentle thump. Darcy patted his head and slithered out from under him and onto his bed.

 

“Skye. Seriously,” she panted and gestured to the slowly awakening superhero on the floor. “What the hell?”

 

Skye huffed and crossed her arms. “As I said, I thought you’d be alone. I wanted to ask you if you knew why the Captain never spoke to me. Now I know it’s because he was horrified to be saddled with me as his Soulmate so... I might’ve overreacted.” She glared at Steve’s form. “A little.”

 

“It’s not like that. He literally found out like ten minutes ago.” Darcy flinched at the disgusted look on Skye’s face. She held up her hands, “I’m serious. It’s a long story and not mine to tell, but I can tell you that he spoke to you the second he saw you again.” Darcy looked earnestly into Skye’s eyes and spoke slowly. “It was stupid, but he tends to word vomit when he’s nervous, ok? And he’s always nervous. So... _he doesn’t talk_.” Darcy willed Skye to understand.

 

Skye cocked her head to one side and squinted. A groan from Steve on the floor distracted Darcy before she could say more.

 

“Hey, buddy,” she said, waving at him. When she looked back up, Skye’s footsteps could be heard thundering down the stairs. She sighed and looked at her rumpled friend, rubbing his head and leaning against her bed. Her heart clenched for him. Darcy smiled at him a little ruefully. Poor guy had the worst luck with women. She crawled onto the floor with him and rested her chin on his shoulder. Steve patted her face idly.

 

“Giggle herp, huh?” she whispered into his ear.

 

Steve groaned loudly and dropped his head back onto her bed. “Noooooo,” he whimpered. “I hate you.”

 

Darcy giggled and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Aw, you big lug.”

 

Steve wrapped an arm around her shoulders and sighed. “At least Skye didn’t use live rounds. Peggy did.”

 

Darcy lifted her head and stared at him in shock. “No way! _Both_ your Soulmates shot at you?!”

 

Steve closed his eyes and nodded in shame. “Deserved it both times, too.”

 

Darcy cackled loudly and squeezed him tighter when he swatted at her. “Oh, the more things change, the more they stay the same. All that science and you’re still a goofy little dork, saying stupid shit and getting shot at by your Soulmate.”

 

They sat quietly for a few moments. “You already sent that damn picture didn’t you?”

 

“Yup.” Darcy popped the P gleefully.

 

“Who’d you send it to?”

 

“Bucky.”

 

He sighed. “Could be worse. You could’ve sent it to Stark. Skye?” He asked softly.

 

“Sorry, buddy. The girl scampered. Think she’s got some stuff to work through. Like research about Soulmates. She’ll probably ask Fitzsimmons and be back in the morning ready to beat the shit out of you. Speaking of which...”

 

Steve tensed and glanced at her from the corner of one slightly bleary eye. “What?” he asked warily.

 

“Why didn’t you talk to me? About Peggy? You had to know I’d understand what it was like not being with your Soulmate.”

 

Steve stared at the ceiling for a long while. “It... Peggy is - _was_ \- mine. Wasn’t yours to deal with. Good and bad, she was mine. I couldn’t be with her, so the least I could do was bear this with her. On my own.”

 

Darcy had the overwhelming urge to feed him and wrap him a million blankets. She settled for lunch and misdemeanor kidnapping.

 

“You wanna get some PubSub footlongs?”

 

“What’s a PubSub?”

 

“A Florida delicacy, my sheltered friend.” At Steve’s bewildered face, she shrugged. “It’s my day off and I’m calling in a favor. I’m boggarting Tony’s jet and we’re hitting the beach. Fuck New England.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, how I long for PubSubs and beaches....  
> EDIT: OH. MY. GOD. There's art now, guys!! Look at Steve in glitter and yoga pants!!!!! Thank you so, so much to Nemhaine42 for drawing this silliness and to CatrinaSL for requesting it!!!! NOW LOOK AT HOW AMAZING: [GlitterSteve](http://nemhaine42.tumblr.com/post/153429113269/omg-im-so-excited-youre-taking-art-prompts)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time. Be gentle :D


End file.
